Lately I’ve been thinking about how nice it would be to live out of town. I imagine a house with a barn and some land, fields and forest. A wood lot for Tim, a pond for ducks, pasture for sheep would be so pleasant. And a house with lots of bathrooms and space to spread out would be devine. I imagine a driveway that doesn’t lead to the opposite side of the house from the door and a kitchen that lends views of said driveway so you can see when friends have come to visit before they are in the mudroom, giving you time to brush your teeth or do whatever you haven’t quite gotten to that morning. And when I really get carried away I imagine having our on dairy cow and perhaps, SouleMama readers will appreciate, a darling snow white pyrenees puppy to look after the sheep…
Sometimes this house just feels too close and I wish it were different. The house down the hill blocks all the best sun and the sound of cars humming past, albeit at in-town speeds, is sometimes tiresome. So I day dream about that perfect house, the house with everything. There is room in the barn for my dad’s boat. There is room for any and all visitors to come and stay.
But then I came home this afternoon and found the kitchen clean as a whistle and bathed in the special setting sun light that angles in just so this time of year. I came into the family room, also clean and quiet where the light fell on the piano, just so. An empty house. The boys all at the skating rink. We have a town skating rink that they can walk to. Also a wonderful library that they can walk to. In the summer we can hitch the boat trailer to the car and be sailing in the bay in 15 minutes. We can smell the ocean from the yard. We have neighbors who are so kind they call to check on us when they don’t see tire tracks in the fresh snow just to make sure we are ok. They are so nice you don’t even mind that they are in the mudroom before you’ve brushed your teeth. Soaking in a hot bath I listed of these things and all the others that are “right” with this house and place. The wood floors and tin ceilings and our wonderful cookstove we would certainly miss. And the attic over the kitchen El holds so much potential for a master bedroom with views of the millstream and ocean… There is the sound of cars but also the lovely chuckle of the millstream tumbling down to the bay. The front porch is a summer gathering place where we sit with our neighbors sharing evening cocktails and watching the world go by. Shep was born here, Owen’s first memories are here. And our clawfoot tub is so big and so deep I can soak my whole self underneath the warm water on a cold winters afternoon including the tip of my nose. So much is right. All I needed was just the right slant of the light to show me. This afternoon all is well and I’m so happy to be right here,
Where We Are.